


too many war wounds.

by opensoulsurgery



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, kinda sort, tbh i'm not sure what to tag this as
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-06 09:46:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3130052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/opensoulsurgery/pseuds/opensoulsurgery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>kevin visits sami post-r:evolution.</p>
            </blockquote>





	too many war wounds.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm Kevin/Sami shipper trash. Have something sad. 
> 
> While you're here, go listen to Irresistible by Fall Out Boy and tell me it's not perfect for this ship.

He’s not sure he expected this to go any other way. 

“Sami—“ 

A blank stare, followed by the door slamming in his face, but he’s quick. He jams a foot in-between the door and the frame before it’s shut entirely, swallowing a hiss of breath as pain flares up in his foot. Christ, he wasn’t fucking around. 

“Kevin. Go away.” 

He sounds determined, but Kevin knows Sami better than the back of his own hand. He curls fingers around the door and pushes against the pressure, forcing the door open. 

Sami lets up. 

Of course he does. 

It’s a moment of awkward silence. Sami looks furious — rightfully so — and Kevin can’t place if he’s mad at himself or at what transpired between them. 

Both, probably. 

“What do you want, Kevin?” 

His words are sharp, and they’d be startling if Kevin wasn’t used to this sort of treatment. 

“I wanted to see how you were doing.” 

It’s true. His words are genuine; he has no other motive for being here. Sami doesn’t look impressed, but his hand drops from the doorknob, and Kevin takes it as a good sign. Pushing the door open further, he lets himself into the apartment, shutting the door behind himself. 

Sami grumbles, turns. The television is on — some mindless show playing in the background, aspirin sits on the table, a mug of still steaming coffee resting beside it. 

“So?” he presses. “How bad is it?” 

“How bad do you think it is?”Sami picks up the coffee, eyebrow arched over at Kevin as he takes a sip. His stare’s condescending. 

Bad, he thinks, pretty bad. He’s done it to the ginger before and it always leaves a nasty bruise.

         “Let me see.” Not a question, a command. He wants to see his handiwork. 

There’s a drawn-out moment of hesitation. In the background, canned laughter filters out from the television before abruptly cutting to commercial. Sami puts down the coffee with reluctance and pulls off his shirt, his face screwing up in pain with the motion. 

Kevin doesn’t offer to help. 

The shirt’s tossed onto the couch and Sami turns his back to Kevin, spreading his arms out as if to say, “Here it is.” 

There’s a black and blue stripe boldly lined along his back — some purple, if you squinted. A nasty looking thing, the steel apron of the ring imprinted onto the wrestler’s skin. Kevin reaches forward to run his fingers along the bruise. It’s not gentle and he can hear Sami suck in a breath, but he doesn’t ease up and Sami doesn’t say a thing. 

The muscles of his back tense up as his Kevin’s calloused fingers travel across the black and blue path. It’s the nastiest looking bruise he thinks he’s ever seen on Sami. 

“Do you have anything for this?”  

“Yeah.” Sami nods, turning to face Kevin. “Some pain relief gel.” 

“You want a hand getting it on? It’s kind of an awkward angle.”  

“No.” 

“Where is it?” 

A beat. Sami frowns deeply, shifting his weight on his feet, eyes dancing away from Kevin.

“On the bathroom sink.” 

“Sit down. I’ll go get it.” 

And he does, and really neither of them are surprised about the direction this has gone in. This is how it always goes. This is how it will always go. 

Kevin’s calloused hands smooth the gel across the bruise. Sami tenses under the touch — sensitive still, eyes screwing shut, features twisting. But again, he says nothing to Kevin and Kevin doesn’t let up. He twists the cap back onto the bottle, placing it back on the table 

“I’m sorry,” he says, pressing a palm, gentle now, to Sami’s back. 

Sami’s head tilts upwards, cocked slightly to the side. Kevin can’t see his face, but he knows there’s the ghost of a self-deprecating smile painted across the other man’s lips. 

“No, you’re not.” 

He’s right, of course. 

Kevin’s hand travels to down to Sami’s waist, fingers curling around the flesh, and Sami freezes before shifting away. 

“Don’t.” Sami’s words aren’t sharp this time, but they’re firm. He scoots across the cushions and faces Kevin, his expression telling the            other man that it's about time he should leave.

He should feel bad. He should feel really bad.

He picks up Sami’s shirt from the couch and hands it over. Sami’s fingers brush against his as he collects the shirt, pulling it back on. He misses that touch — god, does he ever. An apology sits on the tip of his tongue, again, but they both know it will be as insincere as the first. He straightens up and gets to his feet. 

“I’ll see you later.”

Despite everything, Sami's lips quirk into a ghost of a smile, barely there. Always smiling, that one. One of the many reasons Kevin loves him. 

“Yeah. I'll see you later.”

It's such a shame that he does.


End file.
